


A Darker Path Not Taken

by ScrollingKingfisher



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Prophetic Visions, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season 14 finale alternate ending, Self-Sacrifice, Suicidal Thoughts, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrollingKingfisher/pseuds/ScrollingKingfisher
Summary: Sam is standing in a graveyard, pointing a gun at God, when he realises that he hasn’t wanted to die for a long time.





	A Darker Path Not Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Prefacing this by saying that I'm FUCKN STOKED by the new season, and also that I'm glad that this wasn't the path canon went down! But my brain went there at 3am, so here, have some angst!

Sam is standing in a graveyard, pointing a gun at God, when he realises that he hasn’t wanted to die for a long time.

Which is strange, because for a relatively large portion of his life, he has. Wanted to die, that is. As though he had been born and raised for it, the universe conspiring to make him willing to stop the apocalypse with his sacrifice, he thinks bitterly. As though it had been written into his DNA in indelible ink. 

During the first apocalypse, everything in his life had seemed to lead inevitably to that point- giving himself over to Lucifer, the long dive into the pit, himself for humanity. Proving the power of his free will over preordained fate. The perfect, bitter-sweet end to his story ark.

And that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t. The story went on.

There had been the war in heaven. The Leviathan. He had seen another opportunity to sacrifice himself to close hell, and he’d grasped desperately at that too- only to have it snatched away from him, and have to live to watch the angels fall instead. Dean became a demon. Their lives were the same whirlwind of awful they’d always been. So he waited patiently for the next opportunity to take one for the team, knowing that he probably wouldn’t have long to wait.

But then...

He still doesn’t know why his powers woke from their long dormancy. It could have been any number of things. Repeated exposure to angel grace, the rift, Asmara’s return even- the possibilities were numerous, but at the end of the day, none of that really mattered. It was an ordinary day when it happened. One day he had been researching whatever monster-of-the-week they were distracting themselves with this time, and the next thing he knew, he was thrown headlong into a premonition.

The powers aren’t like they had been the first time around. Although maybe he’s wrong there- maybe it’s Sam who’s changed. Maybe now he’s older, calmer, now the rage in his heart has burned down to embers of what it was before the apocalypse, he can direct the premonitions better, even control them to a point. 

The pain that had once blinded him now barely registers. The images flashing in front of his eyes are merely a distraction. That first time it had been over in a snap, and he had been left blinking down at his research books, the image of the djinn’s next victim burned into the back of his retinas.

(He’d known where to find them. Nobody in their hunting party had questioned when he led them directly into the lair. Two more people survived the night.)

He’s never bothered to tell Dean or Cas. They’ve had more important things going on. Things like being possessed by Michael and Jack’s soul going missing.

And just maybe, he’s lying by omission because he’s still worried deep down about their reactions. About rejection. And maybe he’s even a little afraid of himself as well. After all, his first stint with his powers hadn’t exactly ended in sunshine and roses.

So he’s been carrying on. Mostly ignoring the cryptic flashes of the future, unless they happen to be useful. And the more he sees, the more he realises that what he’s seeing isn’t concrete; a victim rescued before their untimely demise here, a monster ganked before it could strike again there. And he can’t help it, it slowly erodes his careful cynicism, it gives him hope. The future isn’t set. He can make a difference. His choices count.

So Sam keeps saving people, and forgets about his little plan to throw himself in front of the next calamity.

It can’t last forever. And it doesn’t. The shit hits the fan, Jack bursts out of the Malek box, and Chuck makes his dramatic re-appearance. 

Somehow, it’s all come down to this. 

Sam’s used to having his free will taken away from him. He’s used to disappointments in his faith. But there’s never been a disappointment as big as this before. Sam can feel that twisting hurt of betrayal in his gut as he stands there in the graveyard, looking down at the all-powerful being who had been manipulating them from the very start, and all he feels is disgust. 

“Our entire lives. Mom, Dad, everything. This is all you because you wrote it all, right? Because- because what? Because we're your favorite show? Because we're part of your story?” 

Chuck doesn’t even have the grace to look at him, but that calm shell is slowly cracking, showing the annoyance and impatience roiling underneath. “Okay, Dean, no offence, but your brother is stupid and crazy. And that kid is still dangerous. So pick up the gun. Pick it up... pull the trigger... and I'll bring her back. Your mom.”

There’s a long pause. Dean’s frozen, gun still pointed at Jack’s upturned face, but Sam can see the indecision in his face. The tension sucks away the air, makes the sound of Sam’s uneven heart loud as a drum in his chest, until, like a wave, it breaks.

“No.”

Dean throws down the gun like it’s burned him. Sam sees the relief and the guilt cross Jack’s face and he knows with a sudden burst of righteous anger that they’re right- Jack is no more dangerous than the rest of them. Another pawn for God to play with. Fresh meat to pit his undefeated champions against, as though he’s Caesar in the Colosseum, all their lives balanced on the tip on his thumb. But they’ve seen through his games this time.

“No.” Dean repeats, shaking his head, looking steadily more furious the longer he thinks. “My mom was my hero. And I miss her, and I will miss her every second of my life, but she would not want this. And it's not like you even really care. 'Cause Sam's right. The Apocalypse, the first go-around, with Lucifer and Michael- you knew everything that was going on, so why the games, Chuck, huh? Why don't You just snap your fingers and end it?”

Chuck splutters. “Look, I-”

But Sam isn’t done. “Every other bad thing we've been killing, been dying over-” He scoffs. “Where were you? Just sitting back and watching us suffer so we can do this over and over and over again -- fighting, losing people we love? When does it end? Tell me.”

Chuck’s face twists, still trying to get out of it. “Dean, don’t do this-”

“No, we're done talking!” Dean barks out. “'Cause this- this isn't just a story. It's our lives! So God or no God, you go to hell!”

Something snaps. An illusion falls away. 

God chuckles, looks at them with eyes as cold as the end of the universe as he says, “Have it your way.”

Sam’s stomach lurches with an unfamiliar horror. No. They’re going to die. In the corner of his eye, the gun glitters. Something inside him stirs.

Chuck’s hand starts to rise, fingers poised to snap, but before he can, time slows to a crawl.

Sam’s suspended. He blinks, realises he can move in this strange between-space, unaffected by the sluggish timestream. Beside him, Dean starts to lunge forward at a syrupy crawl, face frozen in a grimace of anger and desperation. Jack turns to Chuck in slow motion, his eyes wide in confusion. 

Sam ignores the appearance of his new ability. He knows he has to act now. There’s only one thing he can do. He bends and picks up the god-killing gun, the metal burning-cold under his fingers.

He points it at Chucks shoulder. A bullet to the shoulder wouldn’t kill either of them. Maybe, he thinks, if they can just hold Chuck off, give themselves some time, they can convince him not to…

He sees the fallout of that choice in flash-illuminated future glimpses- cornered in a zombie ridden graveyard- Jack’s eyes, burnt out craters- darkness falling across the earth...

His heart clenches. No. For half a second he fights it, his newfound will to live struggling against what he's seen. But he’s not going to let that happen. He can't. He couldn't live knowing he could have stopped it. And Jack... his heart twists in his chest. Not Jack as well. He can't lose anyone else. He won't. Dean will miss him, he's sure. Cas as well. But he's not worth the world. He can do this.

Everything inside him goes very calm and still. He's back there again, pivoting on the edge of nothing, arms outstretched. 

And, well. At the end of the day, self-sacrifice has always been easier than hanging around to watch the aftermath.

Sam doesn’t really want to die any more. He doesn't. But then, Chuck really should have known that this was coming, Sam thinks to himself with a grim sort of satisfaction. He wrote Sam this way, after all. It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of literary foreshadowing. This was the only logical conclusion.

The decision is made in a split second. Sam shifts his focus. He aims the gun right between God’s eyes, and has just enough time to see them widen. 

He pulls the trigger.


End file.
